Wishful Thinking
by RinoaTifa
Summary: KotOR II. No matter how much he may want to escape, Atton's past will always catch up with him.


**Wishful Thinking**

**Author's Note:** This is set fairly early on in KotORII, definitely after Telos, probably after the first Jedi Master has been found. It's my first time writing for this game, so any feedback would be greatly appreciated!

The warmth of her flesh against his, her soft lips peppering his body with delicate kisses, the catch of her breath when he lifted her slender frame and pushed it up against the nearest wall not covered in important looking equipment.

Atton had wanted this for a long time now.

The exile ran her fingers through his unruly hair and a smile danced across her lips before she leaned in once more and Atton lost himself in her kiss. The ship was silent, save for the unending hum of nearby panels and their own breathing, and for a moment even that seemed to cease and there they were, suspended in perfect stillness, lost in each other… until suddenly he found himself being shoved into the pilot's seat.

'Ooh, someone's playing a little rough,' he murmured, grinning. 'Not that I'm complaining at all.' The exile smiled back, the half-smile he recognised from their first meeting back on Peragus, so recent yet an entire lifetime ago. His eyes travelled downwards, taking in the Republic-issue underwear the exile had been wearing that day. His brow knotted with confusion. 'Wait, when did you-?'

'Shh!' She pressed her index finger to Atton's lips and his question was instantly forgotten. The exile straddled him, wrapping her arms around his neck, and by this point Atton was fairly certain he couldn't even remember his own name, let alone be concerned about her apparent talent to change outfits in two seconds flat. She leaned into him and whispered in his ear, 'Isn't this what you want?'

The exile stepped back. The cockpit of the Ebon Hawk was gone; in its place was a room Atton had once been far too familiar with. He sat up straighter, focus now firmly on his surroundings, and found himself restrained with energy bands around his hands and feet, binding him to a chair that most definitely didn't belong to the Ebon Hawk. He stared at the bands in disbelief. Back in the day, they had been his favourite way to keep Jedi down. They channelled the strength of whoever they were placed on to create an impenetrable circle of energy – the stronger the Jedi, the more powerful the bands became. That kind of thing had amused Atton at the time.

A single light lit the room, directly above his head, serving to blind him with its glare while leaving the rest of the room in deep, treacherous shadow. Even with the harsh beam in his eyes and this entirely different perspective to the one he'd always been accustomed to, Atton knew exactly where he was. It was the smell that gave it away. Fear. Pure, unadulterated fear.

'Or do you only like it when it's the other way around?' That voice… Atton looked up to where the exile was still stood in front of him but it was no longer her. Instead…

'You,' he breathed. 'But you're-'

'Dead?' The female Jedi smiled at him wryly. 'And how did that happen again?'

Atton wouldn't have known what to say even if he hadn't lost the ability to speak from the moment he'd recognised her as the last Jedi he'd ever killed. In his time, Atton had been responsible for the demise of many Jedi and eventually their faces, their words, their deaths had all bled into one. Apart from this one. Her mismatched eyes, one blue, one green, were forever fixed in his memory, the cropped dark hair, the determined features, the small whimpers she had tried so very hard to suppress when subjected to his own personal brand of interrogation. Every word she'd said to him he could recite from memory. The way her body had slumped when her spirit finally left it was something he could never forget, and he doubted that he ever would. He knew this woman better than he knew his own reflection. And he'd never even learned her name.

'I was just doing my job – what I had to do to survive,' Atton stammered, knowing he had to say something, anything, to get her to stop looking at him like that. Even so, he couldn't bring himself to look directly at the woman who had given her life for him as he lied to her.

He needn't have bothered. She'd known when he was lying then, of course she could tell now. The exile who was not the exile moved behind him, lazily and leisurely, placing her hands on his shoulders – the same motion he had made countless times before when it had been some expendable little Jedi stuck helpless in that chair. It had always unnerved them, not being able to see their tormentor, just feeling the pressure of his hands, hearing his voice coming from the darkness all around. 'No, it was more than that. You see, you are a predator. It's never been about survival for you – it's been about the thrill of the hunt. The thrill of the kill. You're an animal, Jaq.'

'No,' he protested feebly, but he knew that it would make no difference. He'd had this coming for a long time. This was what he deserved. 'I'm not Jaq, not anymore, I-'

'You'd break them,' the dead Jedi persisted, her grip harder now, her words more insistent. When he'd known her, for those few brief moments that had changed him forever, her voice had been kind and compassionate but now it was twisted with hate. Hate directed at him. The man who had killed her. And, really, who could blame her for that? 'But not entirely, no. You'd hurt them just enough so that they were still able to scream. Because it wasn't worth it, if they didn't scream. Isn't that right, murderer?'

Even with his eyes fixed on the stone floor below, Atton could still feel her gaze boring into him, harsh and relenting, and knew that she already knew the answer. Yet still she waited. She wanted to hear him say it, to confirm that he was the dark, twisted creature she was describing.

'Yes,' was all he could manage.

He heard the soft patter of her feet as she circled the chair to face him once more and felt her kneel down beside him. A cool hand cupped his chin and when he lifted his gaze it was the brown, compassionate eyes of the exile staring back at him. She tilted her head to one side, and Atton felt as though she could see him in his entirety, everything he was, everything he'd done, every blemish that had been burned onto his soul. In that moment, all of his carefully erected walls were demolished. Never in his life had he felt more exposed.

'I'm sorry,' he whispered, not knowing whether he was addressing the exile, the female Jedi who had given him more than he'd ever deserved, or all the nameless Jedi whose demise he was responsible for, one way or the other. It didn't matter; those two simple words were beyond inadequate anyway.

'I – I was supposed to save you.'

The exile's hand moved up from his chin, tracing the line of his jaw and gently stroking his cheek. 'Atton,' she murmured softly. 'Haven't you learned anything? You can't save anyone.'

Slowly, she raised her other hand and with a growing sense of horror Atton recognised the jagged, ebony-coloured blade of the knife that had appeared in her grasp. 'It's your turn to scream now, Atton.'

'No. No, you wouldn't do this. You're a Jedi!'

She smiled again, the same smile that had made his heart skip a beat every time he'd seen it. She leaned in close and for a moment he thought she was going to kiss him again. Then she whispered, 'Oh Atton. I've not been a Jedi for a very long time.'

Her hand pulled back. The blade was plunged into his heart. He screamed and--

* * *

Atton awoke, barely stifling the scream that had clawed its way up his throat. He wanted to get up, to run, to hide, he didn't know what but he was shaking so much that he doubted his legs could support his weight. Instead, he buried his head in his hands, and took one shaky breath after another. Instinctively, pazaak cards appeared in his head and Atton began to play, trying to lose himself in the calm and protection this usually brought.

It wasn't working. Sure, Atton had suffered from nightmares before but nothing like that. It had been so vivid. He could have sworn that he'd smelled the sweet scent of the exile's skin, seen the grime and rust of the room that haunted him still, felt the blade twist into his chest.

Suppressing a shudder, he rose. The sound of the running tap helped bring him back to his surroundings and the cool splash of water on his skin further calmed him. As the droplets trickled down his face, the dream began to fade, dissipating into the night and leaving behind little more than an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. But of one thing he remained certain.

That night he'd gone to bed resolved to tell the exile everything about his past at the next available opportunity. He hated lying to her, especially when she'd always been so honest with him this whole time, and he'd learned from experience that these things had a habit of coming out anyway. But now… The image of the exile's eyes as she'd knelt before him had yet to fade, and the look that had been present in them had made Atton certain that he wouldn't – no, he couldn't - tell her. Because there hadn't just been anger in those eyes – anger he could have dealt with, anger he deserved. There had been pity, and as long as he lived Atton hoped never to see that look in her eyes again.

No, he'd never tell her. No matter what the cost, he could never let her find out what he truly was.

A predator.

* * *

On the other side of the Ebon Hawk, as everyone else continued to slumber unawares, a lone dark figure rose from their meditative position on the floor. Alone in the darkness, with only the echoes of the blackest of nightmares for company, Kreia smiled.


End file.
